Something To Talk About
by Bagting Hangin
Summary: Reaction fic to the Oxford English Dictionary making "Sherlolly" the example for the newly standardized verb, "ship". Shameless Sherlolly fluff.


Molly knew something was different when she walked into St. Bartholomew's Hospital that morning and saw colleagues and patients alike looking at her as she walked past. She tried waving at those whom she knew, but they all quickly turned away or whispered amongst themselves. Oddly enough, she didn't feel like they were saying anything bad. On the contrary, there was an air of excitement all around. The thing was, she wasn't used to being the centre of that atmosphere.

Deciding that it will probably do her no good to ask, she squared her shoulders, held her head high, and made her way to her mortuary. As she neared her favorite worktable in the lab, she saw a new copy of the Oxford English Dictionary innocently lying on the worktop.

A simple bookmark had been placed in the book, the upper end of the bookmark visible. The bookmark had "Molly" written on it so, ever the scientist, Molly moved to investigate it. The bottom end of the bookmark stopped just above the verb "ship" (?). Molly scanned entry. When she got to the (highlighted!) example her cheeks heated and she felt faint. For a moment she worried she might hit her head on the floor but even before she finished the thought, a large warm hand was on the small of her back supporting her and that familiar scent (top notes of mint and lemon leaf, middle notes of geranium, rosemary, lavender and sea, base notes of patchouli, vetiver, musk and labdanum) delighted her nose. **_Sherlock_**. Sometimes she cursed her super-sensitive olfactics. His scent was a spell, and the underlying tone that was uniquely Sherlock was what got her the most, _every. Single. Time._

Molly felt Sherlock lower them both on the sterile floor of the hospital mortuary so that her head was in his lap. "Breathe, Molly. That's it. Just breathe and relax," he coaxed.

Molly obeyed him, which really didn't help, because now Sherlock was so near to her that all she could think about was him, how good he smelled and how she'd give anything — ANYTHING to be allowed to run her fingers through his dark, curly hair. She took a steadying breath in and released it, finding it just the least bit funny that her exhaled hair ruffled the fringe she dared not reach for. Then she made the mistake of looking into those endless ocean eyes. Just like that she was done for again.

"Molly? Stay with me. What's wrong?" Sherlock asked.

It'd been weeks since Molly saw Sherlock, so to say she was overwhelmed would have been the understatement of the year. Instead of trying to answer and risking a squeak, she lifted the arm that wasn't so dangerously close to Sherlock's crotch and pointed with it to the offending book above.

Sherlock didn't move from where he sat (probably because she was laying across his lap, Molly deduced) but she saw that he took note of the cover of the book in question. She made a move to get up, but Sherlock's other hand (the one that wasn't still on Molly's back soothing her nape), came to rest on her heart, just above her breasts, making Molly gasp. Sherlock gave her a small, amused grin and lifted his hand from her chest to fish his phone out of his coat pocket. Molly watched as he tapped away on his phone and read from it, taking in the sight of him from an angle she thought she'd never see him from. _Beautiful_, she thought. _Not yours_, the logical part of her brain added. Her free hand found purchase on the floor so she again moved to get up but again Sherlock's hand held her down gently. She looked up at his face again and saw that the expression on his face was… tender? No. It couldn't be.

"Are you… troubled by this?" Sherlock asked her hesitantly (?). He'd turned his phone so that she could see that he was on the Oxford English Dictionary site, and on the entry she'd read just minutes before from the book on her table.

Still not trusting herself to speak, she shook her head. Slowly, so as to minimize the effect of his presence on her.

Sherlock put the phone back into his coat pocket and took one of Molly's hands in his. Molly observed him as he checked her for other signs of injury and distress. After a moment, he said, "How about we get you upstairs?"

Molly tilted her head to the side and waited for him to continue. When a moment passed and he didn't say anything more, she thought he'd gone into his mind palace. She didn't mind lying in his arms while he thought, she decided. But then he picked her up bridal style and gave her a wide, genuine smile that reached his eyes. "Let's give our '_shippers'_ something to talk about."


End file.
